Extraits

“You came with the prince, didn’t you? Monseigneur Conor Aurelian?”

“I am his cousin,” lied Kel.

“Do you like him?”

Kel was silent. To even ask such a question was treason. One did not like or not like the King, or the Crown Prince. They simply were, like the Maquis, like the dark-jade canals of the Temple Quarter, like Queensfall itself. It was like asking if one liked the gods.

“I saw my sister coming up the stairs with him and the others,” said Merryn. “House Aurelian. One cannot say no to them, can one?”

“I never have,” Kel said, feeling suddenly weary. It had been a long day, too long; he felt drained to the bone. “Maybe in play or jest, with Conor, or Bram, but not in any seriousness. No.” To his own horror, his voice shook. A sword–catcher does not show weakness. A sword–catcher is the strength of the Prince, his shield and armor.